


Aerials

by paranoid_fridge



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 4+1 thingy, Cameos by - Freeform, Carrying, Chris - Freeform, Dorks in Love, Fluff, M/M, Phichit - Freeform, Yuri's grandfather - Freeform, Yuuri has stamina, a dash of angst, a good helping of borderling smut, and a few others - Freeform, humorous schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-13 00:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9097669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranoid_fridge/pseuds/paranoid_fridge
Summary: Four times Yuuri carried Viktor, and the discussion on who gets to do the aerials in their pair skate.
Featuring: Yuuri kissing Viktor to the point of tears, Yurio and his grandfather (a lasting first impression!), minor injuries, alcohol in generous quantities, Yuuri’s stamina, bedroom shenanigans, and pair skating.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I miss having new episodes ;_; (so allow me to fill the blanks some more).

#0

They glide across the ice, easily matching their movements with each other and to inaudible music. The choreography for their exhibition skate is coming along smoothly.

“Alright, how about we add a aerial here?” Victor suggests, slowing down idly. Yuuri follows his example.

“Another?" he asks, using the break to tug his jacket back into place. The rink in Sankt Petersburg is noticeably cooler than his Kyushu home rink. “I mean it fits, but …” He swallows down his protest for now. “Or do I lift you this time?”

Viktor grimaces and Yuuri hides his own grin at the reaction. “You already do the lifting at all other times.”

Yurio, from the other end of the ice rink, mimics vomiting.

Yuuri grins broadly. “Well.”

* * *

 

#1

The first time it happens is in Kyushu. The weather is warm enough for people to be swimming at the beach, even though the sun has started setting. Viktor and Yuuri, leisurely making their way back from the rink, stop to enjoy the scenery.

“Let's dip our toes in,” Viktor suggests cheerfully. Yuuri - whose feet ache after hours and hours of skating - finds himself humming in agreement. So he unties his sneakers and they make their way toward the shallow waters.

Overhead the sky begins to brighten in the rich colors of evening. Yuuri watches Viktor turn his face into the sunlight - making him glow like an ephemeral creature.

“Yuuri?” Viktor asks, glancing back over his shoulder. And a part of Yuuri can't believe that this graceful being came here for him. But Viktor holds out his hand with a bright smile, and his chest filling with silent joy, Yuuri takes it.

Together they stroll along the shore, waves lapping at their feet. Yuuri feels like sighing in relief - after today’s training the cool water is bliss. Shells, tiny stones, dried seaweed, and sadly trash dot the path, and it soon turns into a small obstacle course. Their fingers, though, remain linked through it all.

That is why Yuuri feels Viktor jerk even before the other exclaims “ow” loudly and hops onto one leg.

“Viktor?” Yuuri asks, confused, reaching out to steady the other. “What -?”

“I stepped into something,” Viktor pronounces through gritted teeth, holding his leg up and turning it to glance at the underside of his foot with all the flexibility of a professional figure skater. He curses.

“Let me look,” Yuuri says and helps Viktor hop over to dry sand. Viktor slumps down with a hiss and pulls his foot immediately onto his lap, not allowing it to come into contact with the sand.

“Ah, dang it, a glass shard,” Viktor sighs, his shoulders slumping. Yuuri silently curses the people that don't that their trash with them when they leave the beach, while he leans over Viktor’s shoulder to look.

It's a fairly sizeable glass shard, embedded in the flesh of Viktor’s toe mounds. The cut bleeds sluggishly.

“We shouldn't pull it out here,” Yuuri says when Viktor makes to touch the shard. There is too much dirt around - the wound itself doesn’t look too bad, though infection may turn it ugly.

“Ahhh, you're probably right,” Viktor agrees, awash in the orange glow of the setting sun. “But how do we get back?”

He looks toward the distant silhouettes of buildings. It's a ten minute walk from here to Yutopia. But now the beach seems to stretch endless.

Yuuri could run there, get the first aid kit, and come back. He could call Minako and ask her to pick them up with a car. Both will take a good while, and he can already make out the rooftop of Yutopia in the distance.

He turns his back to Viktor. “Climb on,” he says, crouching down. “I'll give you a piggy back ride.”

“Eh?” Viktor’s eyes widen. “You…? Won't I be too heavy?”

Yuuri gives a short shake of his head. “I've got stamina, don't you recall?” He grins wryly, though his nerves surge. What if Viktor doesn’t want Yuuri to touch him? What if Viktor - No, he stops himself. If anything, Viktor so far has been very tactile.

“Are you sure?” Viktor asks skeptically.

“Absolutely,” Yuuri announces, forcing down his own doubts - which are ridiculous. “I used to carry the triplets. All of them at once.”

“Oh my,” Viktor gazes up at him with open admiration and a blossoming smile. “In that case, please and thank you.”

Yuuri shuffles closer and first grabs hold of Viktor’s injured leg in order to keep the wound from coming in contact with the sand. Viktor then wraps his arms around Yuuri’s shoulders; gets his second leg in position - Yuuri takes hold of the thigh, and slowly rises to his feet.

Viktor isn't heavy - but they're figure skaters, they always watch their figures - but a comforting, warm weight on Yuuri’s back. His chest pressed to Yuuri’s back also makes Yuuri wonder if they have ever been this close before - and brings a faint flush to his cheeks.

“Is this really alright?” Viktor asks, right next to Yuuri’s ear, and a tingle runs down his spine.

Yuuri nods and starts walking. To their left, the sun disappears behind houses and mountains and to their right the sea glows orange. It's a beautiful evening.

“You know,” Viktor says and it’s probably his breath tickling Yuuri’s hair and not the sea breeze. Yuuri unconsciously tightens his grip on Viktor’s thighs. “I think the last time somebody carried it me was when I was 17. I’d messed up a jump and hit my head.” He laughs, though it sounds a little brittle, a little sad. “I don’t remember much about it, but they were trying to be nice. It wasn’t very comfortable, or maybe that was because my head was hurting.”

Viktor chuckles and Yuuri flushes a little more. Of course he remembers. Viktor Nikiforov, who’d just debuted and won gold missing the competition one year later due to a very bad fall (mostly due to Viktor getting a bad concussion; his ankle had miraculously come out undamaged).

“I hope this is more comfortable then,” Yuuri replies truthfully. And wonders - because while rare, he can remember having been lifted off his feet by Celestino, by Phichit, by his dad, and other people well past the age of seventeen.

“Of course,” Viktor singsongs. “You're the one carrying me after all!” He drops his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder, exhaling as a light breeze from the sea ruffles his hair.

Warmth spreads through Yuuri’s chest. If this is something he can do for Viktor, he will gladly do it many times over.

“By the way, Yuuri,” Viktor starts again, as Yuuri turns into the street leading to Yutopia. “Do you know why this is called piggy back? It’s rather fitting, isn’t it, considering Yurio’s nickname for you.”

Yuuri almost drops him.

* * *

 

#0

“I can’t help it if I have more stamina,” Yuuri replies with a downright sleazy grin. It does bring a faint blush onto Viktor’s cheeks, while Yurio groans.

“You two!” he complains loudly. “Worse than any soap opera!”

* * *

 

#2

In Barcelona, Yuuri only drowns three glasses of champagne during the official part of the banquet. Then the unofficial part starts, Viktor is drawn into a conversation with Otabek, Chris, Mila, and Yurio, and Yuuri rediscovers his love for champagne with the help of Phichit.

“Viktor,” Yuuri slurs as he barrels past Chris. The conversation halts and Viktor has a split second to wonder just when Yuuri got this drunk - and the world tilts abruptly. Yuuri dips him parallel to the ground and holds him in position. “Viktoooor,” Yuuri repeats.

What a charming surprise, Viktor thinks and smiles widely as a very flushed Yuuri gazes down on him. Somewhere in the background a phone clicks, little Yurio protests, though Viktor is only too happy to allow Yuuri to sweep him off his feet.

“You look so pretty when you cry,” Yuuri announces to the world at large.

Well.

“The fuck?!” Yurio explodes.

“Ohhhhh, kinky,” Chris singsongs, and Viktor feels the blood creep into his cheeks. For all that he knows Yuuri is forward when drunk (or just in the right state of mind) this statement is unexpected. And Yuuri still shows no inclination of allowing Viktor up.

The room suddenly feels hot.

“Listen, piggy, if you so much as -” Yurio, and Viktor sees his shoes at the edge of his field of vision.

The Yuuri leans forward and presses his lips against Viktor’s.

Forcefully.

This is taking a highly unexpected turn, Viktor thinks, before Yuuri deepens the kiss and his higher brain functions drown in a maelstrom of glorious sensations. The warm of Yuuri’s lips, of his skin, of the arms supporting his waist. The growing tremor in his knees, the heat of Yuuri’s mouth, the faint taste of champagne and chocolates, and the increasing lack of oxygen.

Yuuri effortlessly holds them in their dipping position, despite Viktor’s knees increasingly feeling like pudding. But Yuuri gives no indication he’s about to break off the kiss anytime soon. Viktor’s chest tightens, the beautiful darkness behind his eyelids grows thicker, and the physical need for air brings tears to his eyes. He could die like this, he thinks, sinking deeper into the wonderful sensations, just let go -

Yuuri breaks the kiss. He smiles down at Viktor, eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed, and Viktor’s thundering heart has known no greater view. Somewhere in the background the world continues to exist, but no longer matters.

“So beautiful,” Yuuri mutters and reaches up to wipe a tear from Viktor’s cheek. He never noticed he started crying - probably the lack of air, a part of his brain supplies, though the majority of it is playing the kiss on repeat.  

Yuuri’s eyes darken. “I’ll make you cry more tonight.”

There’s a choked noise in the background (though Viktor doesn’t see Yuri turn a number of different shades of red, and even Chris look on a little scandalized. Phichit meanwhile is torn between staring and looking away to preserve Yuuri’s dignity - he compromises by recording with his phone. As long as he watches through a screen, he’s not watching directly.)

“That, ah, sounds fine, Yuuri,” Chris says, while Viktor’s head still swims. “But how about you do that in a more private location?”

(“You really intend to let the piggy drag Viktor off?!” Yurio exclaims outraged, though to Viktor’s ears it’s all garbled noise. “Have you looked at them?!”

“Yeeees,” Chris replies. “And I really think they shouldn’t stay in public.”)

“Alright,” Yuuri agrees and switches his hold on Viktor, brings a second arm under his knees and lifts him completely off the ground. It all happens a little too fast for Viktor’s spinning head, but the crook of Yuuri’s neck is right there, so he hides his face away.

(The video doesn’t make it online. But the picture of Yuuri carrying Viktor out of the banquet hall does).

* * *

 

#3

In another hotel, several weeks later, they stumble through the door, lips locked. Yuuri’s hand tugs insistently at Viktor’s belt, trying blindly to undo it, while their tongues push against each other. Viktor kicks the door shut with the heel of his shoe, hands buried in Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri surges up and pressed Viktor back against the door - which only now locks with a soft click that neither of them really hear.

Yuuri glues himself to Viktor’s front, pins the other between himself and the door, tries to touch every bit of warm, covered flesh he can reach. His lips seek out the soft skin of Viktor’s neck, slipping over the Adam’s apple and he feels the rapid heartbeat, hears Viktor gasp for air.

“Yuuri,” Viktor whispers, hoarsely, and heat pools in Yuuri’s groin.

He reaches up, twists the tie around on hand and jerks Viktor’s face down, close enough that their foreheads almost touch, and their breaths mingle. Tears cling to Viktor’s eyelashes, his cheeks flushed, his lips swollen, and the sight makes Yuuri’s heart sing out in joy. A smile stretches over his lips, and his blood cries for more; more contact, more skin - immediately.

“I’ll take you apart,” Yuuri promises, and feels Viktor shudder (he always comes apart so prettily). He lets go of the tie, slides his hands down Viktor’s sides. Viktor in turn grasps him by the hair, deepens the kiss.

And the bed had never seemed so far away.

Viktor’s lips slip from Yuuri’s lips, kiss a trail across his skin, downward. When teeth find his pulse point, Yuuri’s knees almost give out. He needs to get them to the bed. Now.

So by sheer willpower he locks his knees, forces one leg between Viktor’s, and pulls him in until he practically stands between Viktor’s legs. A moan falls from Viktor’s mouth, ghosting over the heated skin of Yuuri’s neck. Fire fills his veins as he nudges Viktor up, and for once the other needs little prodding, and wraps his legs around Yuuri’s waist.

They exchange another deep, wet kiss, that leaves them gasping and flushed. Their clothes ruffled, buttons almost undone. Both gaze at another, and Yuuri is glad to see his happiness reflected in Viktor’s eyes.

“Bed, now,” Viktor breathes, and Yuuri happily complies.

With five long steps he crosses the room. Viktor’s lips caressing the side of his neck makes his knees weak - and he ends up dropping Viktor a little less elegantly than planned, and stumbling on top of him.

* * *

 

#0

“Perhaps you have more stamina,” Viktor replies, ignoring Yurio’s grimacing. “I’m taller, though. It would look weird on the ice if I did all the aerials.”

“Hmmm,” Yuuri tilts his head thoughtfully. “Wasn’t your trademark surprising the audience?” He glides past Viktor with a small smirk.

“Well, yes,” Viktor agrees. “But it might still look odd. Yurio, what do you think?”

The young skater glares at them from the very elegant pose he is currently trying out. “Don’t drag me into this.”

Except, that Yurio is already right in the middle.

* * *

 

#4

Yurio glares at them. Scoffs and puts his phone down. Then announces “my grandfather will pick us up.”

Yuuri smiles tiredly, and Viktor mumbles something, half passed out. It’s been a long and tiring day, what with the pre-dawn flight from Petersburg to Moscow, an entire day running around and either skating or meeting with sponsors (and Yuuri will admit he let Viktor do most of the talking and skating), and now they are all dead on their feet.

At least their flight back isn’t until tomorrow afternoon, and they’ve got a nice hotel (or in Yurio’s case even a family home) with warm beds waiting for them.

On the other end of the city.

“Thank you,” Yuuri tells his Russian namesake, who crosses his arms and slouches in his seat. “Yeah, don’t sweat it.”

Yuri fiddles with his phone. Yuuri interlaces his fingers with Viktor’s - both because he enjoys it and to keep Viktor from downing the remaining liquid in the vodka bottle. In truth, Yuuri feels addled, too, and he thinks his namesake isn't unaffected either if the way he keeps trying and hitting the wrong buttons of his phone is any indication.

Perhaps having Yuri’s grandfather pick them up in this state is a terrible idea. What kind of impression will they make, Yuuri wonders. But he's warm and tired and all he wants is his bed.

He's also not entirely certain how time has passed, but at some point Yuri announces “he's here”, and they both remember they have a bill to settle. Yuuri fiddles with the unfamiliar notes and in the end just puts down the largest denomination he has.

“Is this enough?” He asks Yuri.

The teenager blinks, visibly swaying on his feet. “I think so.”

They really should have taken Otabek, Yuuri thinks. He'd probably have kept it together.

Then again, they could have also taken Chris and turned this nice bar into a strip club.

Well.

“Viktor, let's go,” Yuuri complains and pulls on Viktor’s arm.

The other barely even stirs. Russian Yuri rolls his eyes in exasperation. “He won't move when he gets like this.”

Yuuri knows. He also knows a way to rouse Viktor even when he's like this, but they are not only in public but also in the presence of a minor. Yuuri doubts that method would go over well.

“Well, alright,” Yuuri sighs, though the sounds come out slightly slurred. “Help me for a bit.”

Yuuri navigates himself in front of Viktor and half underneath the table. Yuri watches him with equal parts confusion and trepidation (which, okay, makes sense. After all Yuuri did ask for his help just before crouching down right in front of Viktor’s groin.)

To resolve any potential misunderstandings Yuuri wraps an arm around Viktor’s hips and pulls him forward. A familiar, warm weight slumps across Yuuri’s shoulder, and he staggers to his feet, with Viktor dangling over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

Yuri’s mouth describes a small, surprised O. And Yuuri wants to tell him that he's not always a perverted drunk. But since he currently has one of his cheeks pressed to Viktor’s rather nice and firm butt cheeks, he doubts he would look very convincing.

“Let's go,” he says instead. Yuri, swallowing down his own comments, nods.

They leave the restaurant. Thankfully it is a dimly lit place, meaning few people take note. Yuuri isn't too drunk either - if he stumbles, it's because Viktor’s stupidly long legs get in the way.

Then they are outside. The cold air immediately sobers Yuuri enough to reconsider his choices. Meanwhile Yuri, with a warm smile on his face, waves into the direction of an elderly man.

“Grandpa!” he exclaims and for the first time ever actually sounds like a fifteen year old.

“Yurochka!” The greeting is returned with equal affection.

It would be truly lovely, Yuuri thinks with dawning sobriety, if this wasn't his first time meeting the man. Being drunk, in disarray, with another drunk slung over his shoulder, and having watched said man’s underage grandson get drunk must make a splendid first impression.

“Those are my f- … fellow skaters,” Yuri introduces them with a wide smile. His grandfather looks over. “You know Viktor. The other one is Yuuri.”

Yuuri hopes his smile doesn't look as psychotic as it feels. “Hello,” he singsongs in broken Russian. “Nice to meet you.”

He's pretty sure waving and smiling while carrying a body over his shoulder qualifies for a police interview or at least an international media scandal. (It does, he later learns. Apparently a fan recognized Viktor, snuck around to grab pictures and posted them online. Due to the very grainy quality and little light, neither Yuuri nor Viktor are actually recognizable. Which is very lucky).

The grandfather’s eyebrows rise. “You have the same name?” he asks, completely ignoring Viktor’s body over Yuuri’s shoulder. (Yuuri hears him quietly snoring, and would be astonished if not for the unfortunate timing).

Yuuri keeps smiling. “Yes, though …”

“Oh, you’re the katsudon boy!” the grandfather exclaims and his eyes light up. “Yurochka told me all about you! Even gave me your mom’s katsudon _recipe_ \- I hope you don't mind that I made some adjustments to it.”

Yuuri feels warm. Judging from the flush on his face, so does the other Yuri.

“She will be glad to hear that,” Yuuri replies politely, wondering just when his life became this show where he discusses his mother’s recipes with Russian grandfathers while his unconscious fiancée dangles over his shoulder.

“Alright, I guess you want to get going,” said grandfather acknowledges. “I parked over that way.”

* * *

 

#0

Yurio skates off in a huff. Viktor and Yuuri exchange amused and slightly embarrassed smiles. Yet for all the press commentary their shenanigans have inspired, Yuuri also has never been happier.

Viktor slides over to him. “You know what,” he says and his eyes glint with the type of suggestion Yuuri knows will either make him laugh or cry or scream. “You do the aerials on the ice. In turn I’ll let you …”

His voice drops into a whisper.

Yuuri turns beet red and his smile widens until his cheeks hurt. "Of course," he replies instantly. "Of course!"

_End_

  
(However, a few hours later, in the middle of a compromising position, Yuuri revisits the question. After all, Viktor looks fetching in midair.) 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to scream at me, with me, or drop me feedback of any other form. XD


End file.
